


Smoke, Mirrors, and Vengeance

by tinuelena



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:06:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinuelena/pseuds/tinuelena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Loki is abducted by Thanos, the two people who love him most-- Natasha and Thor-- team up to go get him back. However, the challenges they face when they reach Thanos' fortress are nothing they had expected: a macabre castle with an underground labyrinth, their worst fears embodied, and a mysterious royal child with nebulous motives. To defeat their enemy, Natasha must rely on her most lethal weapon: her wit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke, Mirrors, and Vengeance

                Precisely twelve hours ago, on the jagged edge of an impossibly high cliff, the wind knotting her hair, the taste of salt and blood on her tongue, Natasha Romanoff had given Thor Odinson a kiss.

                There had been nothing romantic about the gesture. In fact, she hadn’t even kissed him on his lips. Moments prior, just as they thought they were about to turn the tide of the battle, Loki had been taken from them. Loki, who had fallen into the void before. Loki, who had finally decided to fight alongside the Avengers when it became plain that the entire universe was under a grave threat. Loki, who had fallen in love with the fierce, unrelenting Natasha Romanoff, and eventually won her, the only person in the universe whose wit matched his.

                When Thanos vanished, Loki in tow, Thor could not give chase; he could not strike an absent enemy with a bolt of lightning; he could not crush his skull with the might of Mjolnir. He, the Norse god of thunder, felt utterly powerless.

               And Natasha saw it, and in a moment of whirlwind emotion, in a moment where words would not suffice, she had given him a kiss. _Don’t worry,_ she seemed to say. _We’re going to find him._ And, in an unspoken show of solidarity, they had become best friends.

                _Because nothing_ , she thought, standing on an alien world with Thor, _unites two people like hunting down the motherfucker who took the person they love most._

               The onslaught of violet-hued snow was like pinpricks on her face. “How can you tell he’s here?” she demanded, holding up an arm to shield her eyes.

                “This is Titan. Thanos’ home world.”

                “Titan is a _moon_ which cannot harbor life _—_ ”

                “The astronomers of Midgard, it would seem, do not know everything about the worlds which lie in their own solar system.”

                “Neither did you, until you asked Aesteli,” she retorted.

                Thor didn’t blame her for her attitude. Neither of them had slept in over a day, and they both knew that time was running out for Loki.

                Natasha burrowed deeper into her parka. She was unused to this, to being so fiercely protective of another. The nearest she’d come was the close alliance she’d built with Clint, one forged of a mutual respect and the debt she felt she’d always owe him. _You saved my life; I save yours._ But she had never been in love with him, no matter what the operatives at SHIELD had whispered.

                And love was different than red in a ledger.

                She pictured Loki, the sharp lines of his face, the cut of his cheekbones, and the surprising tenderness which came from such austerity. She had been weary when they first laid in bed together, in a dark hotel in Hong Kong, after a fight which nearly claimed her life. He loved her, that much she knew; and though she’d internally returned that sentiment for a long while, she’d never felt comfortable giving in until that moment. When she allowed him into her bed that night, he did nothing more than run his fingers softly over her skin, a gesture of comfort, after divesting her of her bloody, torn clothes; and he did so tirelessly until she fell asleep, content. The next morning, he brought a breakfast tray to her bedside: a croissant, a dish of cut strawberries, one strip of bacon, a tall glass of orange juice, and her Sig Sauer.

                She was in love.

                Now she held the firearm at the ready, feeling outmatched. She was going up against one of the most powerful beings in the universe with a gun and some fancy Stark Industries tech. Though, she had to admit, she felt slightly better remembering she had a god at her side.

                They crept silently across the landscape, the whistling wind covering any sound their footsteps may have made. They stayed mainly to the shadows, cast by tall sapphire stalks which burst open at the top, pushing crystalline spikes into the gray sky. Before them, a vast complex rose against the swirling snows, its façade a marbled hue of glowing red, its doors tall and forboding.

                “It looks unbreachable,” said Natasha, voicing the concern on both of their minds.

                Thor’s fist tightened around his hammer. “Not for Mjolnir.”

                “What we could use,” she sighed, “is a silver tongue.”

                “You are skilled in the art of persuasion.”

                She raised an eyebrow. “I think I may be a bit out of my league here.”

                Thor hung Mjolnir from his belt. “You must try. I believe we must follow Loki’s wisdom… words before might.”

                “Don’t you think we should try the covert route?”

                “Thanos knows we are here. He has the power to—how would you put it? To read minds.”

                “Oh, great. Then how am I supposed to get in here, if he knows my real game?”

                “He does. His guards, his soldiers; they may not.”

                “May not. That’s reassuring.” She steeled herself as she emerged from the clusters of stalks, remembering what was at stake. If this was a suicide mission, so be it; she’d never be able to live with herself if she didn’t try.

                Before she even reached the massive doors, two recognizable forms cut her off. These aliens she recognized. _Chitauri._ “I would speak with your master,” she began.

                “Do you know who our master _is_ , human?”

               “I—oh, fuck it.” Before they could react, she stuck her pistol into the taller one’s neck, firing a killshot; at the same time, she plunged her fist into the other’s face.

                Dazed, he fell to the ground, and the aliens began to pour from the fortress.

                “It would seem you have less patience than my brother!” Thor shouted, relishing the crunch of bone as he flattened a line of Chitauri with Mjolnir.

                Natasha didn’t answer; she held the dazed Chitauri by the neck. “How do I get in?”

                He laughed in return.

                “I don’t have time for this,” she spat, dragging him bodily to the front door and pulling a blade from her thigh. “You have ten seconds to open this door for me, or I cut just a little too close to that little spot on your neck, and let you die a very slow and painful death.” In New York, she’d quickly learned how to hit the Chitauri where it hurt, and she never forgot an enemy’s weakness.

                “Go back,” he hissed, “scum of—”

                Unimpressed, Natasha pierced the skin near the pulsing vein in his neck as a warning. “One more try.”

                Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, his lips pulled back in a grimace. She could see the spot pulse, like a human’s heart would pound. “I would _never let—”_

Her expression did not change as she pressed the blade deeper.

                “Please—”

                “No need to beg, just tell me how.”

                He held a hand out to her; at first, she mistook it for a pleading gesture. Then she saw the glove on the alien’s palm. “This?” She tore it off.

                He nodded.

                “Then you shall have your mercy.”

                “You will never get to Loki,” the Chitauri spat. “You will die before you can reach him.”

                Natasha stared at him. “He’s alive?”

                The Chitauri’s eyes went wide as Thor turned his full attention to him.

                She shook him violently. “Tell me!”

                “No more, human.”

               With one clean slice, the Chitauri was dead.

                She slipped the glove onto her hand, just in time to catch another alien in the belly with a well-timed jab; Thor clubbed him in the head, and they pressed on toward the entrance, now swarming with Chitauri.

                “Nothing we can’t handle!” Natasha yelled, and activated the Stark tech she now wore at all times—an upgraded version of the cuffs SHIELD had supplied to her, weapons she’d dubbed the Widow’s Bite. Sizzling electricity shot through the bodies of the Chitauri as she grabbed them, killing some, simply incapacitating others. At her side, Thor harnessed his own electricity, using Mjolnir to pull lightning from the sky, directing its fatal fingers at their enemies. They made quick work of Thanos’ forces; before long, the gates of the fortress opened wide for them, and Thor barricaded the doors, leaving a horde of Chitauri clamoring at the doors.

                “Now what?”

                “We find Loki,” Natasha said, facing the horrors of the interior with determination.

                The castle was bleak and empty. It was built, Natasha assumed, for a royal family; it bore a striking resemblance to the layout of the palace on Asgard, with its grand armories and vast halls. But here, blood stained the floor and wind whistled through the corridors. Any grandeur this place once had vanished long ago.

                They pushed open door after door and discovered horror after horror. In one room, a collection of skulls was displayed proudly on the walls; _vanquished enemies,_ assumed Natasha. In the banquet hall, a spread was laid out for a very macabre dinner party. “Thirteen guests,” Thor observed.

               “Thirteen at dinner,” Natasha whispered. “But Agatha Christie would never have dreamed this up. This is a Poe dinner.” The food was all spoiled; every guest, though still in their seats, was long dead. Unsettled, she quietly backed away and shut the door. Two rooms down, they discovered a torture chamber, the bones of a victim still on the rack.

                “Something is wrong,” Thor declared, staring at the grotesque scene in the middle of the room.

                “I’ll say.”

                “My father has fought Thanos before. He is an old enemy of Asgard. This—” he waved an arm around—“this is not something he would do. He is too advanced for this sort of old brutality.”

                “So are we in the wrong place?”

                “I cannot be sure.”

                “We’re not leaving until we’ve searched every square inch of this place.”

                Thor nodded.

                After several wrong turns and a catalog of horrors, Natasha discovered a dark tunnel of stairs. “Let’s check it out,” she said.

                Thor nodded, though he paled at the thought of what may be below ground.

                Despite her bravado, Natasha was a bit frightened herself, though she tried her best to push that fear aside. Steeling herself, she pictured the green eyes she’d grown to love so much, the ones that could read her like a book. She thought of the declaration Loki had made to her when she asked what side he was on; _I am loyal to you. You are who I fight for._ With no torch, she felt her way down the sharply cut passage, feeling a subterranean chill hit her as she reached the bottom step. On the wall, halfway down the corridor, a lone torch cast a faint glow over the dungeon.

                And it very much was a dungeon. The moment Natasha set foot on the basement’s ground, she heard a small, faint cry. “ _Ijálpa_ _?_ Help?”

                Thor and Natasha looked down to see a very young Jotun child, nearly the height of Natasha, covered in dirt and scars, her skin faded to a mottled pale purple. When Thor stepped into the light, she shrank back, recognizing the Asgardian helmet.

                “I’m not here to hurt you,” Thor said softly. “I promise. We are here to help my brother, but we will help you, too.”

                “He’ll hurt me,” the little girl said. “He’ll hurt all of us.”

                “Who will?”

                “Thanos.”

                At that moment, a terrible crash sounded from above ground, followed by thunderous footsteps. Natasha exchanged a look with Thor.

                “The Chitauri are through,” she said. “Only a matter of time before they find us.”

                Thor turned back to the girl. “Why are you here?”

                “He wants my mom to give up her power.”

                It dawned on him. “You’re Helora, aren’t you?”

                She nodded.

                “She’s the daughter of Jotunheim’s queen,” Thor explained to Natasha.

                “You’re the Asgardian prince. Your brother is the Jotun,” Helora said, realizing. She pointed at Thor’s vambraces, which were etched with a motif of Loki’s horned helmet. “I know where he is!”

                “You do?”

                Helora nodded. “That way,” she said, pointing. “A left at the end of the corridor.”

                Already, Natasha was working on the lock. Within moments, the cell door swung open, and Helora edged carefully out of the cell, searching the hall as if someone might stuff her back in at any second.

                “Come,” Thor said. “We will get Loki, and you shall be returned to your mother.”

                She shrank back. “But Thanos…”

                “We will not allow him to hurt you. I promise. Come… we must move quickly, before the Chitauri find us down here.”

                “But I am a princess of Jotunheim. You are a prince of Asgard. We are enemies.”

                “Our fathers and grandfathers were enemies, Helora. We need not carry on that tradition.” Thor held out his hand to the young princess. “We can be friends.” Gingerly, she took it.

                Natasha led the way down the passage, following Helora’s instructions. The other cells they passed were empty, save for a few rodents gnawing on the bones of corpses; Helora shuddered, looking away. Natasha glanced at the little girl, privately thinking she was lucky to survive, the only living thing in this palace of death. As they reached the end of the corridor, Helora told them to take a left, and they ran into a locked door.

                A roar surged through the dungeon; the Chitauri had sniffed out their prey.

                Thor raised his hammer to strike the door down, but Natasha held up a hand. “Break down that one,” she commanded, gesturing to the door on the other side.

                “They are nearly here! We need to—”

                “Don’t ask questions, damn it, just do it!” she hissed, pulling out a hair pin to work on the lock.

                Helora twisted her hands together, nervously watching Natasha; there was a clang of metal as the Chitauri discovered Helora’s empty cell, the sound of the door being torn off its hinges in frustration.

                Rather than risk Natasha’s wrath, Thor sprinted to the opposite side and let loose with a mighty swing of Mjolnir. It merely dented the door. As he swung, the sound of metal on metal drawing the Chitauri down the long corridor, Natasha sprung the lock and ushered Helora into the dark passage. “Thor!” she hissed. “Come on!”

                With one last swing, the door gave, and Thor ran back, letting the darkness swallow him. Natasha quietly shut the door just as the Chitauri rounded the corner; seeing the destroyed door, they rushed headlong into the wrong passage.

                “Good thinking,” Thor said.

                “I told you not to question me,” she hissed, sticking the pin back in her hair. “Come on. They’ll figure out they took the wrong passage before long.”

                “I can’t see a thing.” Thor felt the walls for a torch.

                Natasha activated the sizzling bracelets of electricity on her wrists, holding her arms aloft. The blue light was enough to cast a dim glow over the subterranean maze. “Just don’t touch me,” she warned.

                Helora clung tightly to Thor as they made their way through the narrow passage. Thor’s head nearly brushed the ceiling; Natasha, averse to enclosed spaces ever since a mission in Greece had forced her to hide for two days in a space hardly bigger than the size of her body, concentrated on the image of Loki’s face. _I will find you,_ she thought, _and come hell or high water, I will get you out of here._

 

xx

 

                At the end of a long, dark, tunnel, Loki coughed up a mouthful of blood. He tried to wipe his mouth, but could not move his hands; through a haze, he lifted his eyes and saw that they were encased in iron shackles. He closed his eyes in concentration, but the magic which would ordinarily free him did nothing; it had been stripped from him. He was powerless. Only one being could do that.

                _Thanos._

                Memories slowly returned to him, and he struggled to sit. He remembered being taken from Alfheim, plucked from his comrades and spirited away, but he could not remember how he ended up here—wherever _here_ was.

                “You’re awake?” came a small voice. “Please be awake, please…”

                Loki jumped, not expecting to have company in this dark hole; but there, across from him, in the same sort of shackles, sat a young blue-skinned girl.

                He eyed her with some suspicion. “Who are you?”

                “Helora, Crown Princess of Jotunheim.”

                “How did you get here?”

                “I don’t remember. Who are you?”

                “Loki of Asgard.”

                Her eyes widened.

                “Do not be alarmed, young princess. I did not bring you here. I have done much to wrong your people, and for that I am still atoning. But I am not so different from you. I am the biological son of Laufey.”

                “Laufey was my grandfather,” she said. She thought for a moment, brows knitted. “That makes you my uncle, then? I am the daughter of Queen Snaera.”

                “A sister I have not met,” Loki replied sadly. “Yes. I am your uncle.”

                “We must get out of here.”

                “I have tried. My magic is not strong enough.”

                “Perhaps,” she said, “it is not about magic.” Her eyes blazed red as she formed ice around her balled-up fists.

                A loud charge sounded from the corridor, and Loki drew in a sharp breath. “Hurry, Helora.”

 

xx

 

                As Thor, Natasha, and Helora delved further into the network of tunnels, the air grew colder and closer. Natasha fought her claustrophobia, pushing forward despite her misgivings.

                It was Thor who voiced what Natasha was thinking. “There’s something at work here.” He peered down the tunnel, unable to see more than a few feet beyond his eyes. “I can feel it.”

                “He doesn’t want you to reach your brother,” Helora said. “He’s going to do everything he can to stop us.”

                “He can try,” Natasha growled, but her bravado diminished as she tarried on and the walls and ceiling began to narrow even more. Every bone in her body wanted to turn and run; she’d rather have spent the night supping with the dead upstairs than spend one more second in this ever-shrinking cave. _Loki needs you,_ she told herself. _He wouldn’t abandon you. Keep going, Natasha._

                “This is a strange prison,” remarked Thor. “Why not keep Loki in a regular cell, like Helora?”

                “Maybe it had to do with his magic,” Natasha responded.

                “You’re not listening,” Helora piped up. “He’s magic. He can see everything. He had to know that you were coming, and made this appear.”

                “Are you sure it was to the left?” Thor demanded of the young princess.

                She nodded. “It was just two days after I came in. I remember because the guards who brought him here didn’t come back. I was looking for an escape route, and I thought there must be a way through here.”

                “It’s getting smaller,” Natasha said, turning to Thor; the only one with her head not bowed was Helora who, as a Jotun child, was tall for her age but still a head shorter than Natasha. “How are we going to fit?”

                “Carefully.”

                The tunnel narrowed and shrank until they were wriggling like worms through the dirt, Natasha still in the front, followed by Helora and Thor. She’d had to deactivate the Widow’s Bite; now, she was blind in the dark. She fought the building panic, concentrating hard on breathing deeply, reassuring herself over and over. _If there’s no outlet, we can turn back. I’m not alone. I can still breathe._

                “Helora,” Natasha said, needing a distraction, “tell me about Jotunheim.”

                “It is a land of snow and ice,” she said, “not unlike the polar regions on Midgard. It is a fragile realm, made so by centuries of war and decay.”

                “What is your home like?”

                “My mother says it was once a great palace, when she was my age. Now it lies in ruins. We cannot build, because—” she hesitated. “Because Odin has taken the source of our power.”

                For a while, the only sound was the scrape of feet and hands and bodies against dirt.

                “I wish for peace between our people,” Thor said at last. “When I am crowned king, perhaps the Aesir and Jotnar can be friends once more.”

                “Were we ever?”

                “My great-grandmother was a Jotun,” Thor replied. “My brother was sired by Laufey. Was he not your grandfather?”

                “Yes.”

                “Then, Helora, we are more than friends. Our connections to Loki make us family.”

                “You love your brother.”

                “Very much.”

                “And you would do anything for him?”

                Natasha’s warning interrupted their conversation. “Watch your head!”

                Impossibly, the tunnel narrowed further. Thor could barely advance his massive form through the space; rocks and earth crumbled over them, making Natasha fear a cave-in.

                “What if the tunnel collapses?” Helora cried, voicing Natasha’s own fears.

 _Breathe,_ she reminded herself, as a clump of dirt fell on her head; she barely had enough room to shake it off. _Breathe, Natasha, breathe…_

                “We’re going to get trapped in here!” Helora’s panic was nearly tangible; her fear permeated the air.

_God damn it, girl, not now, I don’t need this…_

                “Keep going,” Thor urged gently. “We’re going to be fine.”

                “No, we’re going to die in here, we’ll be trapped, we’ll never get out… never…”

                Natasha shut her eyes. The tunnel was becoming more and more unstable, the dirt falling faster, and she was beginning to believe the girl. “Start moving backward,” she instructed them. “Go. Now.”

                Thor pushed himself back, but Helora wouldn’t budge.

                “Go!” Natasha yelled, but there was nothing for it.

                “I can’t!” sobbed Helora. “I can’t, I just can’t, I’m too scared—I _can’t_ —”

                And now Natasha was trapped. She couldn’t move forward, and a crying Jotun child was blocking her escape route. She couldn’t breathe. _Breathe,_ she said to herself, but her lungs were out of her control, they were collapsing, her heart was pounding, her pulse racing; _I’m going to black out._

                Desperately, she clawed at the earth in front of her, the only thing she could do. Every one of Helora’s sobs, every bit of dirt that fell on her head, made the air feel impossibly closer. _I’m buried alive,_ she thought, _Helora’s right, I’ll never get out of here…_

                And just as she thought she might die from fright, she pushed through into a cavernous room.

                “Helora, be careful,” Natasha warned, pulling the girl through the tunnel and onto the narrow ledge.

               As soon as she peered over the edge, she let out an audible gasp. “ _Saefírila_ ,” she breathed, reverently bowing her head.

                Natasha joined her. Jagged cerulean crystals formed a perilous shoreline for a glittering blue river. “Are they—” She turned to Thor.

                “Molten sapphires,” Thor responded, glancing at Helora. “Sapphires are sacred to the Jotuns. They are rare on their realm, and it is forbidden for a Jotun to touch a sapphire. ‘ _Saefírila_ ’ literally means “eternal snowflakes” in the Jotun tongue. They believe sapphires are the remnants of the first snows of Jotunheim.”

                “This whole _place_ is made of sapphires,” Natasha said to Thor. “How the hell are we going to get Helora through here?”

                “Helora,” Thor said softly. “We must get through the cave.”

                “I cannot. It is forbidden to touch the _saefírila.”_

“You cannot go through without touching it.”

                “Then I cannot go through. I must go back.”

                The ground shook; the tunnel which had spat them out on this ledge sealed itself shut, and a blue stalactite loosed itself from the ceiling, crashing to the floor in a shatter of faceted brilliance.

                “We must go!” Thor insisted, ushering her toward the narrow, jeweled staircase; she fought against him, protesting.

                “If I touch the _saefírila,_ my mother will cast me out! It is forbidden! If you wish to be kind to me, you will allow me to keep the _saefírila_ sacred! Do not make me break the unbreakable rule!”

                Thor picked her up. “Hold on to me!” he roared, swinging her onto his back.

                He carried her, piggy-back, as more stalactites began to fall. A particularly sharp one nailed Thor’s cape to the floor; he jerked forward as he ran, tearing it from his shoulders, leaving it impaled on the polished floor. Helora clung tightly to him, screaming as they cut through the air, crying tearful prayers in the language of her people.

                “There is no way across but to swim!” Natasha yelled as they reached the banks.

                “Helora, if you want to live, you must swim.” Thor’s voice was firm; stalactites crashed around them. “Your mother need not know of this moment; we will not tell her.”

                Tears streamed down Helora’s face. “I could not live with myself,” she cried.

                Natasha’s last ounce of patience had vanished. “I don’t have time for your superstitions. You’re either going to touch the sapphires and die, or touch them and live.” Natasha tested the liquid with her finger. “You two can make your decision. I’m going across.” And with that, she dove into the river.

                “She’s right, Helora. You will end up touching them either way. We need not tell your mother of this; she will not cast you away.”

                “Can’t you take off a piece of your armor? I could float across the _saefírila_ on that _._ ”

                Thor had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea. He unfastened his breastplate and went to the edge of the river.

                The cave shook violently, and a shower of deadly jewels fell from the domed ceiling. Natasha, swimming hard across the wide river, barely had time to cover her face; one of the pieces struck her on the head, rendering her unconscious.

                Thor saw her just in time. “Natasha!” Leaving Helora on the banks, balancing precariously on his armor, he dove in, liquefied sapphire breaking around him as he raced to save her. Her motionless form bobbed on the thick liquid, blood rushing from the wound on her head. He wrapped an arm under hers, clasping his hand around her shoulder, and hauled her to the opposite bank. The sapphires jutted out like knives on the shore, and he held her in one arm as he blasted a flat plane into the jewels with Mjolnir. “Wake up,” he whispered, setting her down gently. He ripped off what was left of his cape to secure a makeshift bandage around her wound, and wished desperately for healing stones. “Natasha… come on…”

                Her eyelids fluttered; she saw Thor, and instantly started to fade again.

                “No, no. Stay with me. Come on. Helora’s still on the other shore, and we have to get to Loki.”

                _Loki…_

                “Leave Helora,” Natasha whispered weakly.

                He glared at her. “No.”

                “I have a bad feeling.”

                “She is a child.”

                “There’s something wrong here,” Natasha pressed. “Please, Thor. Trust me.”

                He stood. “Stay awake. I will return.”

                Natasha watched as he crossed the river, wishing that she could articulate just what made her suspect the seemingly fragile princess. As she made eye contact with her, sitting huddled on Thor’s breastplate as he guided the makeshift raft through the sapphire waters, she could have sworn that she saw a smirk on her face; _then again, that could just be the concussion talking._

 

xx

 

                Chitauri thundered down the hall, and though Helora was giving it her all, it wasn’t enough to free them in time. The horde came rushing into the room and came to a screeching halt as soon as they saw Loki and Helora were the only two occupants of the room.

                "Where are they?” demanded the head of the guard, a leviathan with seven fingers and red teeth.

                “Who?”

                He flew at Loki, seizing him by the throat. “Don’t play games. The woman with red hair and the Asgardian. They came this way, with that little girl, after they busted her out of her cell.” He thrust a finger at Helora.

                “I’ve been here all this time,” she spat back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

                The Chitauri guard growled at her, and she went silent.

                “I only just awakened,” Loki told him. “If my brother is here, I have not seen him.”

                The guard nodded to his comrades. “Search the room. If they are here, if there is a passage, if they are hiding, we will find them—” he glared at Loki—“and kill them.”

                Under Loki’s calm visage, a thrill of hope rushed through his veins. _Natasha and Thor. They’ve come for me. And the Chitauri think they’ve come this way._ He smiled, picturing Natasha. _She’s sent them off on a merry chase; she and Thor are searching for me._

                He glanced at Helora. She gave him a tiny smirk, and he noticed the veil of frost creeping across the iron shackles.

                As the Chitauri poked at the grate in the floor, the metal holding Helora to the wall snapped.

 

xx

 

                Unscathed by the _saefírila,_ Helora stepped off of Thor’s breastplate and onto smooth gray stone.

                “Listen,” Natasha said. “It’s Loki. I hear him.” She pulled herself to her feet, swaying in her spot. “He’s hurt. Come on.”

                “You’re in no fit state to go,” Thor told her. “Stay here with Helora, and I will find him.”

                Helora dropped back to take Natasha’s hand, but Natasha shook her head. “No. We all go.”

                “Natasha—”

                Her glare could have shattered ice. “I will not stay behind.” Steadying herself, she led the way out of the cave and into a mazelike system of rooms.

                An echoing cry filled the corridors, and Thor exchanged a look with Natasha before dashing off down the hallway.

                “Thor!” Natasha chased after him. “Thor, we’re going to get lost in here, wait—” But even as she said it, she realized she already had no idea where she’d just come from. “God _damn_ it!”

                With Helora at her heels, she sprinted after Thor, who followed the sound of his brother’s pain with a keen ear. Around corners they went, down long and short hallways, until Natasha was sure they were buried so deeply within the bowels of the castle they’d never get out. As Loki’s cries got louder, Natasha began to crave the satisfying crackle of electricity which would erupt from her wrists when she killed his torturers.

                They were close enough now to hear Loki’s words. “I will not betray them for you!” came the defiant shout, and Natasha’s heart swelled. “You can kill me first!”

                Natasha pointed to the door at the end of the corridor, and Thor nodded. He hefted Mjolnir into the air, a war cry on his lips as he barreled through the door.

                As they entered, they came to a screeching halt.

               The room was empty.

 

xx

 

                “No sign of them,” came the report. “They’re not here.”

                The Chitauri guard seized Loki by the throat. “Last chance, Asgardian. Where are your friends?”

                Helora closed her hand. Slowly, ice encased her fist, forming a deadly dagger. She met Loki’s glance with a hard, meaningful stare, and he nodded his understanding.

                “I am not an Asgardian,” he told the guard, letting his mask fall. Blue ridges appeared in his skin; glowing red eyes stared down the Chitauri guard. He reached back and, as the Chitauri reached for his weapon, stabbed him through the throat with his own spike of ice.

                Helora spun around, taking out a pair before they realized she was free; one of the sentries shouted something, and a rush of Chitauri flooded the door.

                “Stay back!” Loki commanded, but Helora ignored him, sprinting toward the onslaught with a battle cry on her lips. She used her head as a pile-driver, knocking down two or three at once, and jumped on them; with spears of ice on both fists, she tore them to pieces in short order.

                Taking her lead, Loki impaled one of the soldiers on his fist and shook him off to get another. As he fought, he thought of Natasha and Thor; it was them who had encouraged him to utilize his biology in a fight, to shed his Asgardian skin and unleash the power of the weapons he could grow naturally from his hands. _It is a gift,_ Natasha had said; _you are armed at all times._

                As he took another one out, he noticed a familiar blue glow in the doorway. Loki followed the curve of the blade up to the face of the Chitauri who held it. _How did they get the staff back? Did they steal it? Or was there always a duplicate…_

                “Uncle!”

                The use of the familial term jerked Loki back to the present, and he put a thick icicle through the skull of the Chitauri who had been about to kill Helora. Then he turned all his attention to the soldier with the staff.

                “That does not belong to you!” shouted Loki over the din.

                “You’ll change your mind soon enough,” he growled, pointing it toward Loki.

                He narrowed his eyes. “I think not.”

                Ice clashed against metal, and Loki sent him into the wall with a violent shove. Taking advantage of his momentary misstep, Loki stayed on the offensive, but he missed the Chitauri’s face and his icy dagger shattered against the stone wall.

                He closed his fists again and ducked the Chitauri’s blow, then came from beneath with a sharp jab. Loki could not penetrate the Chitauri armor with ice; _but,_ he thought, eyeing the staff, _I could make him stop fighting._

                The Chitauri swiped at Loki, but Loki spun around to evade him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Helora was cornered by three of them. _I need to do something fast._

                Thinking quickly, he took an overhand swing at his enemy, and let the enemy hit him square in the stomach. Feigning injury, he collapsed to his knees, hearing Helora’s concerned gasp over the clash of weapons and ice. And then, just as quickly as he’d clutched his stomach in pain, he shot forward and wrenched the staff from the Chitauri’s grip, catching him off-guard.

                He held the tip of the staff to the Chitauri’s stomach. “I could gut you, or I could give you the option to aid me in exchange for your safety and freedom. But I’ve had enough experience with Thanos’ army. I don’t trust you.” He activated the scepter, which glowed as the Chitauri’s eyes shifted from red to black. “You will take me to Thanos.”

                “Us,” Helora insisted.

                Loki turned to the young princess; Chitauri blood dripped from a thawing fist of ice. “Us,” he affirmed.

 

xx

 

                In a flash, Natasha drew her gun and aimed for Helora; the little girl, however, had disappeared. In her place stood a giant, his skin the color of fresh scars, his dark eyes shining with victory. “Your Loki,” he began, “is not the only trickster.”

                She gritted her teeth. “Thanos.”

                “Appearances can be deceiving, Earth maiden.”

                Thor’s fingers tightened around the handle of Mjolnir in a rage, his face slick with sweat, lips curled to reveal clenched teeth. But Natasha sheathed her weapon and regained her poise, an unreadable expression on her face. The soft grind of dirt beneath her boots was the only sound as she approached the Titan, arms crossed. “It would seem I owe you my gratitude.”

                He raised an eyebrow.

                “That cold-hearted son of a bitch tried to destroy my planet,” she said coolly. “I just spent months convincing him I loved him so I could kill him when his guard was down.”

                “You’re lying.”

                She shrugged. “I know that you can read thoughts. Read mine.”

                Thor watched Natasha in disbelief, not knowing lies from truth. She _had_ fallen in love with Loki in a most unexpected manner, but her feelings had seemed so genuine—she had risked everything to find him—but was it just so she could have the satisfaction of killing him? The Black Widow was, after all, known for her cold detachment, not her warm affection.

                Satisfied, Thanos backed off.

                “I only regret that I couldn’t watch him die,” Natasha said. “And now you’ve got me and another demigod trapped. I’m assuming our death is next, and that’s just fine with me.” She chose her next words carefully. “I can die happy knowing that bastard is gone from the universe.”

                “He is not yet dead,” Thanos responded.

                Natasha smirked. “If you want to see him suffer,” she said delicately, “I know his weaknesses. I would kill him as he once threatened to have me killed. Slowly— intimately— in every way he fears.” She ran her fingers over the handle of her knife. “And I am not known for my mercy.”

                Thor would hear no more, and let Mjolnir fly; Natasha ducked it, and the hammer lodged itself in the wall behind Thanos. Before Thor could call it back to him, Thanos trapped his fists in the stone wall, leaving him struggling to break free.

                “Your magic is of no consequence here, Asgardian. You will languish here, and you will rot.” He turned, then, to Natasha. “And you… I will watch you kill Loki. Not for your satisfaction; for mine. I want to see his face when the thing he loves most takes his life. And then, make no mistake, I will kill you.”

                She pulled out her knife, licked the flat side of the blade, and shined it on her sleeve. “They always say to go out doing what you love, right?”

 

xx

 

                “I would not go in,” said the Chitauri, raspy voice trembling at the door.

                They were at the dead end past the long row of dungeon cells, having left the rest of the Chitauri cadre locked away in their cell. They had emerged from the door which Thor had smashed open as a diversion tactic; the other door stood before them, closed and unlocked.

                Loki flexed his fingers. “You will if I ask you to.”

                He nodded, still under the influence of the staff.

                “Why are you afraid?”

                “Thanos is all but master of Death. He will feed you your fear, and you will die upon it.”

                Loki narrowed his eyes. “I met the Lady of Death during my time on Thanos’ barren rock. She bows to no master. And if she has, it was a ruse. Lead us.”

                The soldier obediently, albeit shakily, pushed open the door. A long hall of darkness awaited them.

                “Go,” commanded Loki.

                The glow of the staff cast an eerie light over the rough stone walls, but it was the inhuman howl echoing faintly in the distance which gave Loki pause. Helora did not shrink back; her fists were already encased in ice, ready to fight whatever they encountered. He thought back to her conduct in their cell; _this niece of mine is a warrior princess,_ he realized with a smile. _Natasha will get along with her._

                The howl sounded again, and this time Loki thought he recognized the sound. “What did you mean about Thanos feeding us our fear?”

                “You know his ways, Asgardian,” the Chitauri responded. “You know he will make real what you fear the most. You know he has the power to—”

                Loki took off at a sprint, leaving Helora and the Chitauri soldier straining to keep up.

                “Uncle!” cried Helora. “Where are you going?”

                “It’s Natasha!” he yelled.

                “Who’s Natasha?”

                The howl sounded again, long and pained, and Loki knew it was her voice. “I’m coming!” he shouted into the distance. “Hold on!”

 

xx

 

                Thanos led the way, a silent Thor at his side. Natasha had suggested that they bring him along; _let him watch his brother die,_ she’d said. _It’s sickening how much he loves him. Just make him leave the hammer._

                Thor had raised an eyebrow at the last suggestion. Knowing Thanos could read minds, he tried to keep the thought from his brain, but couldn’t help it. _She_ knows _I can call it from anywhere. Maybe she’s lying to Thanos after all._

                A voice, faint but clear, echoed in the silence. “Natasha! I’m coming!”

                _Loki._ “How endearing,” she scoffed. With amusement, she turned to Thanos. “You made us see illusions. What’s he seeing?”

                “He isn’t seeing anything yet. He’s hearing your screams.” He watched carefully for her reaction, listened to her thoughts, but all he could read was the derision in her short, cold laugh.

               “He’s coming to save me while I’m coming to kill him. Poetic, really.”

                Thor couldn’t hold back. “My brother trusted you,” he growled. “And so did I.”

                Natasha didn’t even look at him. “Which makes both of you very naïve.”

                “He loves you.”

                She shrugged. “Love is for children.”

                “How can you be that cold?”

                She kept her eyes fixed on the path ahead, her voice toneless. “Warmth has never suited me.”

                Thor glanced at her wrists. Her Widow’s Bite bracelets glowed bright blue, the power at its highest setting. He flexed his fingers, ready to spring into action, but let Mjolnir remain in its place. Perhaps he truly was, as Natasha said, naïve; but he could not bring himself to believe she truly meant to kill his brother.

                “Where are you?” Loki’s yell echoed down the corridor.

                They rounded the corner, and Thanos held up a hand. “No more illusions,” he commanded, and the rough walls of the underground labyrinth disappeared.

                Natasha found herself staring down Loki and Helora.

                “You,” Thor growled, glaring at Helora.

                She glared back at him. “I am the Crown Princess of Jotunheim, Asgardian. We are equals. Show some respect.”

                “You’re the _real_ one, then?”

                She raised a fist of ice. “Does this answer your question? Thanos shapeshifted in to me, didn’t he? We realized that much when the Chitauri came looking.”

                Loki, meanwhile, was trying to put the pieces together. “Natasha? I thought I heard you—I thought—” He paused, realizing that Thor was bound while Natasha walked free at Thanos’ side. His voice became timid. “Natasha?”

                She approached him, her heart breaking, her words chosen carefully. “You are a Frost Giant,” she began murderously, her voice laden with hatred. “The only biological talent you possess is the talent to kill. You bring death to your enemies at the icy tips of your fingers. But not here. Not today. I did not come here bearing the gift of your salvation. I carry no Casket of Ancient Winters. There is no love in my heart. The only thing left for us is murder. The only thing left for me is revenge.”

                At once, Loki knew. “Helora,” he said, his voice steady, keeping his eyes on Natasha, “you need to leave my side. Go stand by my brother. Get out of the way of this.”

                She stood her ground, feet planted. “No. You are my family, and family sticks together.”

                “If I could ask you one thing, as your uncle, it would be this. Please, Helora. Trust me.”

                Grudgingly, she removed herself to Thor’s side.

                Natasha, her back to Thanos, continued to stare Loki down. She raised her arms in a gesture of intimidation, the sizzle of blue electricity lighting the cavern.

                And between her hands, blocked from the others’ view by her torso, its blue light camouflaged by her own weaponry, emerged the Casket of Ancient Winters.

                “Come fight me,” she challenged, smiling at Loki. “If you dare.”

                “With pleasure.” He leapt at her as if to strike; just as his hands grasped the handles of the Casket, she ducked out of the way. “Now!” she yelled to Thor.

                As Loki directed the full force of the Casket at Thanos, Helora ran at him from behind, pressing her hands to his flesh; the Titan’s roar of pain shook the ground, sending rubble scattering across the stone. From the depths of the castle, Mjolnir flew to its owner and connected with his palm. “Wait!” Natasha demanded, as Thor raised his arm to strike. “Not yet!”

                As the ice took over his body, the Titan’s roars quieted and his thrashing stopped. His violet-red flesh paled, and his eyes ceased to glow.

                Once Loki was satisfied that he was frozen solid, he set the Casket on the floor.

                “Now,” Natasha instructed, and Thor brought the force of the hammer down, shattering Thanos’ frozen body into thousands of pieces.

                Immediately, Loki threw his arms around Natasha. “You brilliant, beautiful, fierce woman,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her cheek, then her lips.

                She squeezed his hand. “I wasn’t going to lose you.”

                Thor approached them. “You had me convinced,” he said to Natasha, impressed.

                “I hoped the clue about your hammer would plant enough suspicion for you to trust me.”

                He smiled. “It did.”

                Helora kicked at one of the frozen fragments. “And the Nine Realms think there is no power left in the race of Frost Giants.”

                Loki turned to her. “Helora… you never told me why you were here in the first place.”

                She grinned. “Because you were right. The Lady Death will never bow before a master.”

                He raised an eyebrow.

                “He was after you. And he would let no one with true power in a room with you, lest you used your silver tongue to goad them into an alliance. So Thanos was led to believe that, if he kidnapped the young Jotun princess, most beloved of her mother, she would give him an army of Frost Giants as a ransom. But Helora is safe and sound at Snaera’s court.”

                “Then who are—”

                Before Loki could finish his question, the Jotun princess vanished; in her place stood Lady Hel, the Lady of Death, slim and pale in robes of green, crowned with a horned black helmet. “He was too insistent to court me,” she said plainly. “Now we both have what we want; he finally was able to embrace death, though perhaps not in the way that he wished— and I will be left at peace in my own realm. I must thank you—” she turned, including Natasha and Thor in her gratitude— “for your help.”

                Loki had no idea what to say. “My whole life, I’ve thought you were pure evil.”

                She stepped toward him, a mysterious smile on her face. “I prefer to think of my morality as… malleable. I am simply persuasive. And resourceful. Perhaps we have more in common than you think.” And with that, she disappeared.

                Loki turned to Natasha. “You know what, I’ve had enough. That can be a mystery for later. I think it’s time we returned home. I owe you your favorite breakfast for this rescue, at the very least.”

                She hugged him again. “I think I deserve some extra bacon for the long and exhausting trip,” she joked gently.

               Over his shoulder, she saw Thor smiling at her. _Thank you for my brother,_ his eyes said.

                _I would never let anything happen to him._ Natasha smiled back at Thor, trying to get the message across, and as he hung Mjolnir on his belt and began to walk toward the exit, she knew that he knew it.


End file.
